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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22846585">Blood, like ink</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_is_a_moron/pseuds/Lauren_is_a_moron'>Lauren_is_a_moron</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Riverdale (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Homelessness, Jughead has forgotten Betty, Memory Loss, Meta, Mystery, On the Run, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, he's also forgotten who he is entirely</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:02:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,596</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22846585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_is_a_moron/pseuds/Lauren_is_a_moron</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Down on his luck, eighteen year old Jones is kicked out onto the street by his abusive step father and has to figure out the way of street life. It sucks that he's not exactly street smart. Getting cash is harder than he thought, and suddenly the world is much more crueller than he initially realised. His only escape is into the colourful world of his favourite comic book. Though his life changes significantly when he meets three street kids who resemble the characters in his favourite fictional world. And the more he gets to know them, he begins to question his sanity. His whole life. </p><p>Who are these kids, really? And most importantly, who is he?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Archie Andrews &amp; Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews &amp; Jughead Jones, Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper &amp; Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Blood, like ink</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i wrote this while sick so please excuse the insanity lmao.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <strong>GOLDWATER PRESENTS... |</strong>
</p><p><br/>
<strong>ARCHIE DIGEST IN FULL COLOUR|</strong>
</p><p><br/>
<strong>Page 23| NO. 40| $3.50|<strike> WEDDING BELLS FOR BETTY AND JUGHEAD?!!!</strike></strong>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> <br/>
<strong>JUGHEAD! IN:  "HERE COMES THE BRIDE."</strong></p><p><br/>
<em>"Juggie!" Grinning wildly, Betty couldn't take her eyes off of the sparkling diamond ring nestled in the velvet box in front of her. It was beautiful. The prettiest thing she had ever seen! Betty shook her head in disbelief. "It's so big!" she squeaked, tucking a stray strand of golden hair behind her ear. "How on earth did you afford it?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Oh you know me, Betts." Jughead's lips curled into a smirk. He plucked the ring from the box and slowly slid it onto the girl's slender index finger. When the girl looked up at him, tears glittering in her blue eyes, he knew she was the one. She had always been the one. His Elizabeth. Betty Cooper stood in front of him; sunshine hair blowing lissomely in the breeze. She was the colour of fresh fallen snow. A white skater dress hugging her figure. When the sun hit her just right- Betty resembled an angel. A glowing angel he'd asked to be his wife. In sickness and in health. Jughead swallowed hard. The tears he'd been managing to suppress were slowly trickling down his cheeks. His lips were salty, his stomach was catapulting and he was pretty sure he was about to vomit. But Jughead Jones was totally, irrevocably in love with Betty Cooper. And that? That was just fine.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The girl began to sob, but her lips were stretched into the widest smile he'd ever seen; so sweet, so pure. Betty was trembling, looking as fragile as a leaf. The two of them stood under a cherry blossom tree, and Jughead sucked in a breath, watching petals dance around the girl. She giggled, despite everything. He knew her mom was surely going to kill him. Because Betty was barely eighteen. They hadn't even left high school yet, and here he was, pouring out the love that had swollen his heart for so many years.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It occurred to Jughead suddenly, much like a wave of icy water hitting him, that Betty hadn't said yes. That oh so magical word which would seal the deal. She had let him slide his grandmother's ring on her finger. Yet she still stood, trembling, staring down at the diamond. She was crying. And there was no longer a smile on her lips. He cocked his head, frowning at her. "Well?" laughing a little, he took her hand. And Betty Cooper looked at him with those beautiful doe eyes of hers, and he knew the answer in them. He knew the answer in her body language. In the tears slipping down her cheeks.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Betty." Jughead felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. Like someone had ripped out his heart and trampled on it. Their embrace fell apart in an instant. Her hands entangled with his fell to her sides and the girl sniffled, swiping at her runny nose.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Jug, I- I can explain." Betty spoke so softly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But he already knew what was wrong. Speaking through gritted teeth seemed childish, but it was all he could do. His throat was burning, his chest aching. "It's Archie isn't it." he managed to get out, and the girl made a little squeaking sound, which could only mean yes. And then he felt like crying. Because really, it was inevitable right? Betty Cooper had always been in love with Archie Andrews. Since they were kids. She'd always have a sparkle in her eye and a special smile for her Archie. But never for him. Not even when they were together. Betty and Jughead. They had dated since freshman year. Since Archie had finally fallen for Veronica Lodge. The girl who had teased him since kindergarten. But Jughead had grown up with the both of them. Betty had never stopped loving Archie, even when she loved him. Jughead swallowed hard. He'd never be good enough for her.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Because...because he wasn't Archie.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Betty was staring at him with such sad eyes, and that killed him even more. He felt anger, a monster tearing into his heart. Archie Andrews had Veronica Lodge! He clenched his fists, suddenly wanting to beat the living daylights out of his best friend! How DARE he take Betty too! How dare he take his pride and joy, the light of his life.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Why did Archie always get what he wanted?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You still love Archie." he whispered. Jughead relaxed slightly. But he felt faint. Like he could collapse any second. And the blonde haired girl would slip off his ring, let it drop on the ground next to him and run off to beg for Archie Andrews' love. The love he'd never give her, because he wanted to play with her heart for the rest of their lives.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Betty's expression twisted into denial, but after a moment, she nodded, letting out a soft sob. "I'm sorry." she whispered. "I really am, Juggie!" her lips curled into a soft smile, her gaze going elsewhere. Perhaps she was dreaming of an alternate reality where it was Archie who had pulled out the ring. "I can't help it," Betty said softly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He couldn't resist a harsh laugh which made her jump a little. "Sure," he rolled his eyes. "ignore me, and continue running after Archie like a little lap dog."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Betty's eyes grew turbulent. "It's not like that," she said. "Jughead Jones, I love you with all of my heart!" she grabbed for his hands, squeezing them. And he struggled not to break there and then. It felt like a goodbye. The last time she would touch him like this. Would there be a last kiss? Oh, how he would miss her lips.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Betty's eyes sparkled with tears once again. "I'll always love you," she choked out. "but Archie," the girl dragged her hand through her hair. "With Archie it's- it's like..."</em>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Betty Cooper's words stop abruptly, crawling off the thin pages of the comic pressed into my lap. "It's like..." the speech bubble prompts, with three colourful ellipses, anticipating the rest of what she's going to say. But when I hurriedly turn over the page, eagerly scanning for the next bit of the story, it's not there. Instead all I'm greeted to are the back pages of the comic; wacky illustrations of Betty and Jughead's would-be wedding.</p><p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p><p>"No..." mumbling softly, my voice surprises me. It's a barely comprehensible whimper. I haven't spoke in a while. Only in my head, using little squeaky cartoon voices for each character. For a moment, I'm confused. Still muttering to myself, I blink rapidly at the page, and the numb feeling I've tried to escape is back.</p><p>Turning back to the previous page, I speed read all the speech bubbles once again, this time through a rapid breath. My gaze flits over each character, but it's no use. I can't bleed back into the world. It happens so fast; the feeling of rain dripping down my back returns, soaking my thin shirt. My breath clouding in wisps of white in front of me. The story had frozen in time. Which is unfortunate for me. All at once it's as if the fictional world of Riverdale has dripped away, like the rain mixing with the ink in the colourful sketches on the pages in front of me.</p><p>The numb feeling in my hands and toes returns, the pounding in the back of my skull and my chattering teeth. The sound of traffic passing by, the late evening commute of strangers flowing past me in a blur. Not one of them stops to drop spare change in the plastic cup I'd set in front of me. It's still empty. And every time I look at it, frustrated tears burn in my eyes. It's why I read comics. There's something about them that drags me from this life, to another. Where I can live vicariously through Jughead Jones and his wonderfully wacky world.</p><p>Once I stopped reading, I was back to reality. I'm not Jughead Jones proposing to Betty Cooper standing underneath a blossom tree, a never ending blue sky and blaring sun above me. Instead, it's pouring it down. The rain had dampened the corners of the comic, spotting the pages. Much like tears. I huddle further into myself, with my knees to my chest, the comic resting in my lap. It's safe for now. As long as the rain doesn't get heavier. I'm fairly comfortable with my back against the wall. But the blanket does nothing to protect me from the vicious chill grazing my cheeks and toying with strands of my hair. I shouldn't be here. That thought is constantly at the back of my mind. I'm eighteen years old. Like Jughead. But unlike him, I don't have a life to go back to.</p><p>It's been five months since I lost my home, and any essence of family. My dad died when I was little, and since then my mom has been on a downwards spiral, dating anyone she could. She lost her job and started drinking. The rest is history. Derek was a drug addict wanting to sponge off of anyone, and my wonderfully naive and stupid mother just wanted somebody to love.</p><p>He reminded me of a cartoon character; he was pale and lean with unwashed dark hair and a scraggly beard, discoloured clothes covered in puke stains and crooked, yellow teeth. Oh yeah, he was a charmer. Mom really knew how to choose 'em.</p><p>So thus began my worst nightmare. Derek wanted rid since he lay eyes on me, and the colourful bruises decorating my mother meant she would never question him. When I was twelve, that was his first attempt. He'd insisted I'd punched him in the face. But back then, mom had been less susceptible. So I spent most of my time in my room, buying my own food, since he wouldn't let me go near the refrigerator. I'd got back from school one day and found my stuff in the front yard, and it had hit me that's he'd finally won. Derek had my mother in his clutches and he'd kicked me out of her life. When I tried to get in the house, Derek had changed the locks and threatened to ring the police if I forced entry. So I had no choice. Back then I had pride, I cared about what people thought.</p><p>So I didn't go to a homeless shelter or got help, instead taking my chances on the streets. At first it wasn't so bad. It was the middle of Summer, so I spent the night on park benches, staring up at the starry sky. When Fall came around, so did the cold. I stole blankets from thrift stores and hopped from one place to another, scavenging leftovers from dumpsters. It wasn't the perfect life, but it was better than living with Derek. I was fucked. No home. No education. Eighteen and stuck on the streets of Toledo.</p><p>When Winter came, I should have been ready. I should have known about the snow storms battering my body, numbing me to the core, and the freezing rain soaking the blankets wrapped around my legs. The days grew shorter, so I started going to the public library in the town square, borrowing comics so I could sink into their world, ignoring my own. But at some point I've got to wake up shivering on the cold, hard sidewalk. Or to some kids calling me names. I have to suck in the icy air and pray that I don't get sick. I have to worry about not eating, not drinking and where my next meal is coming from.</p><p>Sometimes I can't hide in fiction. No matter how hard I try. It's too hard to ignore a world that's been so cruel, in favour of one that only rips me from this life for a short amount of time, before plunging me back in. It's like drowning. When I look up from my comics and take in the world around me. It's suddenly so hard to breathe. My chest aches, and I feel like I'm being dragged down, down down to the bottom of the ocean.</p><p>Gritting my teeth, I stare hopefully at the comic. As if the next installment is going to magically appear in front of me. But the last page has been ripped out, and Betty Cooper's words have been erased from existence. Which begs the question; Did she love Archie all along? Was she just leading Jughead along? When I glance up, I catch sight of the twilight sky; a vivid red blur chasing the horizon.</p><p>The busy street is lit up by an illumination of stores in the evening gaze. A pizza place crowded with people, a Hot Topic next door to a thrift store. I haven't had this spot long. During the night I usually sleep in a back alley, where it's quiet. I stay out in the open in the daylight in hope of subconsciously guilt tripping a member of the public into giving me spare change. But it never works. Sometimes I play a game in my mind, perceiving myself from a passer by. I'd see an eighteen year old boy huddled into himself, his eyes stuck to a colourful comic book. His hair an unbrushed mess, sticking out from under a knitted grey beanie. His clothes; a red and black patchwork jacket hanging off his shoulders, puddling on the soaking sidewalk and filthy skinny jeans. I wouldn't give myself cash either.</p><p>I close the comic and stuff it in my pack, burying my face into my lap to conserve warmth. It's so cold. So fucking cold. The smell of pizza haunts my nostrils and I lick my lips, tasting phantom stringy cheese and tomato sauce. I haven't eaten since yesterday. Someone had dropped their bacon sandwich, and after hesitating, I'd dived for it, stuffing it into my face like an animal. It had tasted like heaven, and I'd savoured every damn bite. My stomach rumbles, complaining for food, and I lick my dry lips.</p><p>"Hey," a voice startles me and I lift my head, blinking raindrops from my lashes. At first I think I'm hallucinating. The commute has slowed down, with only a few people splashing by, holding umbrellas, eager to get out of the cold. There's a boy hovering over me. At first I think he's some random passer by, maybe nice enough to drop a dollar in my plastic cup. But then I notice his shoes. They're ratty converse like mine. My gaze travels up his legs, taking in dirty, frayed jeans like my own. He's wearing a long trench coat that hangs off him. When a particularly turbulent gust of wind hits us both, his jacket blows open, revealing a thin plaid shirt. He's pale with freckles speckled over his nose and cheeks, a mop of dirty red hair sticking from underneath a backwards baseball cap. There's something slung over his shoulder, and it takes me a few seconds to realise it's a guitar sticking from his pack. It wouldn't surprise me if he sang crappy covers, or maybe just "Wonderwall" on repeat to make money. It's not a bad idea.</p><p>"You're in our spot, dude. Move it."</p><p>For a moment all I can do is stare at him, baffled. He's the spitting image of Archie Andrews. Well, if Archie was a street kid with five O' clock shadow and a weird accent. Though the red hair is a dead giveaway. It's almost as if the boy has just stepped out of the comic book I'd stuffed in my bag. I keep expecting his dark eyes to brighten significantly, lips stretching into that cartoon style grin I'm so used to.</p><p>But the boy doesn't smile. If anything, his expression darkens. I wonder if if I should ask him outright if he's a street kid like me. But it seems evident in the state of him. Either he's a street kid, or had a really rough night on the town.</p><p>"Did you not hear me?" the boy growls, and I blink rapidly, snapping out of it.</p><p>Yep. There's definitely an accent; a weird twang in his voice. It's distracting. Rain continues to cascade from the heavens, slamming into the sidewalk. I wrap my arms tighter around my soaking jeans, fighting the urge to cry out. I can't even imagine how long it's going to take for my clothes to dry. The redhead, however, barely winces. He only juts his chin at me with a scowl. He blinks rain from his lashes, brown eyes narrowing at me. "You're in our Spot."</p><p>I'm not sure what to say. I haven't spoken or communicated with anybody in so long. When I open my mouth, it feels wrong. But I know one thing. This is my spot. It's right under just the smallest bit of shelter from the store's roofing. If it wasn't for this spot in particular, I would have drowned by now. The boy looks ready to fight me, and I can't resist feeling on edge. My chest aches. If I have to, I'll fight for this damn spot. Just this small piece of heaven. A tiny fucking luxury in this cruel ass world. If I had a weapon of sorts, it would be my mouth. I have the ability to talk my way out of bad situations. Pissing off a homeless kid definitely counts as a shitty situation.</p><p>"Hey there!" I try my best to smile through gritted teeth, and he in turn cocks his head. The kid is clearly taller than me, and if he wanted to, he could probably knock me out. I haven't seen a street kid in a while though. Definitely not this asshole. I would have remembered his scruffy mop of red hair and shitty attitude. Clearing my throat, I settle the boy with a look. Though it's hard not to be intimidated by him. He looms over me; six foot something. While I sit against the wall, probably looking like a drowned rat. "Does it have your name on it?" I end up choking out, and almost immediately regret my choice of words when his lips curl. He lets out a harsh chuckle. "Excuse me?"</p><p>There's that twang again. Though I'm so sleep deprived, my mind a confusing ball of candyfloss, I can't make out which one. I shake my head. "Okay," my voice trembles no matter how hard I try to sound fierce. "Can we not do this?"</p><p>The boy rolls his eyes. "Not do what?" he exclaims. I jump a little. Red crosses his arms, glaring at me. "There's nothing to talk about, asshole," he grumbles. "you're in our spot, so how 'bouts you move your ass before I do it for you, huh?"</p><p>"What?" I can't help hissing back. Helpless tears spring to my eyes. "But- I've never seen you before!" I splutter defensively. Though from the look on the boy's face, he's not ready to listen or chat it out. So I choke out a laugh. "Since when could you mark territory, anyway?" It seems so pathetic to fight over a spot on the streets. Granted, this is a good place; a shelter from the rain. No wonder the boy wants it so badly.</p><p>Red's expression doesn't waver. It's still stoic. He's a stubborn fucker, I'll give him that. "Move." he says simply. "Or, like I said, I'll make you move."</p><p>"Seriously?" Getting to my feet, my legs ache. It's been a while since I've stood up and my body complains. The boy takes a threatening step forwards, but I don't move. I'm not scared of him. We stand nose to nose, and he doesn't even flinch. His breath reeks of garlic. He looks like the type of guy I'd avoid at school. The kind of kid who slammed freshman into lockers and dated the head cheerleader. How the hell did this boy end up on the streets? "Alright, how about we share it?" I ask hopefully. Though I'm far too naive.</p><p>He arches a brow. "Share it? Are you kidding?" he splutters. "Do you think you're some kind of joker?" his voice is grating on me, speaking so convoluted, and with that dumb accent. I can barely comprehend a word he's saying. The boy's expression crumples for a moment, and there's a glint in his eyes that I can't understand. He peers at me, as if searching for someone else. "Hey!" I can't help spit. "What are you staring at?"</p><p>The boy shakes his head, scowling. "I'm not playin' round, mate. Move, or I'll move you myself."</p><p>I glare at him. Speaking in that wonderful condescending tone I've missed using. Before street life, I enjoyed speaking down to people. "Talk slower. I can't understand you."</p><p>At first I think the boy's going to back off. But after a second, I see his clenched fist and twisted scowl and know I'm in for it. I want to cry for help. But nobody would help me. Not even the purest of souls would help me, because I'm a degenerate. In the eyes of the public, I'm a disease. "Wait!" I gasp out, freezing up. Stumbling back, I forget about the wall behind me and slam into rough brick, nearly falling over myself. "Look dude, I'm having a pretty crappy night, so if you could just cut me a bit of slack-"</p><p>The last thing I see is Red's fist swinging towards my face in an arc, before impact; a sudden burst of agony, stars exploding in my vision, and the feeling of my body flopping to the wet concrete. I swear I hear a voice. Right at the back of my mind. And it's so familiar, despite never hearing it before. "<em>Jug</em>!" her voice is so soft. So sweet.</p><p><em>"Do you understand how dangerous this is?"</em> The girl sounds panicked. And my own voice is a soothing murmur, echoing in the back of my mind;<em> "I'll be fine, I promise. Besides, it's the only way,"</em> I let out a sigh. "<em>Come on. We'll be safe, I promise."</em></p><p>
  <em>"What if you don't come back?"</em>
</p><p><em>"I will. Like I said, how could I forget, right?"</em> I let out a bitter laugh, and it rattles in my skull.</p><p>The voices keep me teetering on the edge of consciousness for a second, and I'm only able to grasp hold of them, reaching out for more answers. Who was this girl? Why can't I remember her? She feels like a phantom, long since forgotten. The knock to my head must have triggered something in my mind. Voices I didn't even know existed.</p><p>But they eventually fade out into white noise, and I'm left to scream into oblivion, trying to drag the nameless girl back. Before everything fades to black.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"Dammit Fitz! I think you've broken his nose."</p><p>I almost want the darkness back. When I slip back into consciousness, I'm positive I've only been out for a few seconds. There's a girl's voice ringing in my ears. It sounds like wind chimes, and her voice is familiar. She's probably right. My nose stings like a bitch. I'm laying down, I realize quickly. Opening my eyes takes effort, but when I finally manage to pry them open. I glimpse two figures sitting over me through fraying lashes, pale yellow light cast over the two of them from the lamppost nearby.</p><p>The first I recognise. It's Red. The asshole who knocked me out. He's frowning at me, his eyes practically popping out of his skull. He doesn't look like he wants to hit me again. Instead, he looks guilty. Next to him is a girl. I must be hallucinating, because when I peer at her, blinking through colourful prisms in my vision, she looks like Betty Cooper. Well, not really. If Betty Cooper was a street kid, then sure. This girl had the comic book character's iconic blonde ponytail, strands of golden hair straying in wide blue eyes. She's wearing what looks like an adult sized coat hanging off her. But at least it looked warm. When I frown at her, blinking rapidly, she draws back with a single breath. There's a ball of toilet paper in her hand, smudged scarlet. I'm suddenly embarrassed of my bloody nose.</p><p>It's still raining. My eyes flicker, blinking drops from my lashes and I let out resounding groan.</p><p>"Ow." Gingerly rubbing at my nose I fix the two of them with my best scowl. My head is pounding, I'm soaking wet and I'm pretty sure my nose is broken. The girl only smiles kindly. "Hi." she waves awkwardly. "I'm really sorry about Fitz," she gestures to Red. The boy eyes me warily. "He has repressed anger issues."</p><p>"I do not!" the boy says defensively. "He wouldn't move, so I..." he trails off with a frustrated hiss, and the girl turns to him, smirking. "So you punched him in the face."</p><p>"I didn't even hit him that hard!"</p><p>The girl hums. She leans forward and dabs at my nose. I flinch slightly, and she softens her touch. "Well, luckily for both of you, it's not broken," she murmurs, tending to my left nostril. It stings when she dabs at it again. "Fitz," she mutters impatiently when the boy ignores her. "Don't you have something to say to the poor boy?"</p><p><em>Poor boy.</em> She makes it sound like I'm on the edge of death.</p><p>Blondie is acting like Red's mother and it's only then that I realize, at second glance, he's one, maybe two years younger than me. Fifteen or maybe sixteen is my best guess. The girl looks seventeen at the latest. Red, or I guess "Fitz" sighs. "I'm sorry for almost breaking your nose." he says, rolling his eyes like a stubborn teenager. Though I guess compared to me and the girl, he is one. He straightens up, hugging his coat tighter around himself. "It's your fault anyway. You should have moved your ass from our spot."</p><p>She smirks. "Always the charmer." Blondie giggles, leaning closer to me. She smells of a cheap perfume and cigarette smoke. Though she doesn't look like a smoker.</p><p>"I'm Ponytail, by the way." she says lightly. "How about you?"</p><p>My real name doesn't matter anymore. It just reminds me of Derek and life before the streets. It's the name my mother came up with. The woman who dumped me for a low life drug addict. "Jones." I mutter. Because it's the best name I can think of on such short notice. Ponytail's lips quirk into a smile. "Nice to meet you Jones!"</p><p>Frowning at her, I can't help wonder how a girl like her came to be living on the streets. Much like Fitz. "No offence blondie, but how exactly did you end up living like this?" I can't help the words suddenly gushing from my mouth. Word vomit. But it feels weirdly good. The girl looks surprised for a moment, before shrugging.</p><p>"She got pregnant," Ponytail says. For a moment I'm confused. Why is she speaking in the third person? "Her mom forced her to get an abortion, because she was so young..." the girl seems to catch herself, blinking rapidly. She doesn't seem to acknowledge changing plural. Fitz clears his throat. "Ponytail talks about herself in the third person a lot." he says, as if it's a completely normal thing to do. He smirks. "You get used to it."</p><p>I nod quickly. But moving my head even slightly, sends rivulets of agony rocketing around my skull. Wincing, I manage to sit up. "I'm okay now." I bat her hand away quickly. For a moment she looks hurt, before jumping to her feet. "Can we go now?" Fitz moans. The kid eyes me, his lip curling into a small smile. "Sorry again for knocking you out, mate."</p><p>"It's fine." I reply. Though it's really not. My nose still stings, and the back of my head feels like someone's repeatedly slamming a brick into my skull.</p><p>The girl tosses me something, and it lands in my lap. When I pick it up, I realise it's a snickers bar. "You look like you need it." she smiles brightly, and I can't resist one back. Though I can't seem to stop thinking about Betty Cooper in my comic book. The story earlier, where Jughead proposed to her. Ponytail has that same smile. Those glittering eyes. I'm most definitely not Jughead Jones, and we're not standing underneath a cherry blossom tree in the fictional world of Riverdale. But it almost feels like I'm missing something. I realize I've been staring hard at the snickers bar for far too long.</p><p>Shaking my head, I bite my lip when an acute slash of pain hits the back of my skull. I must be concussed. "Thanks." I manage, stuffing the candy bar into my soggy jacket pocket. When all I really want to do is unwrap it and stuff the whole thing in my mouth without even savouring it.</p><p>"No problem." Ponytail flashes me another smile, before turning to go, Fitz on her heel. He gives me a two fingered salute.</p><p>It suddenly occurs to me that I don't want them to go. They're the first kids I'd talked to in so long. It felt good to talk like a normal kid. Since leaving home I've had to adapt to the life of an adult. Constant survival. I open my mouth to ask if I can join them, or to share my spot with them. But before I can, they're disappearing as quickly as they'd come. Ghosts in the night. The two of them walking hand in hand back through the darkness. All I hear is their footsteps splashing through puddles in the alleyway, getting further and further away, until the only sound is my own laboured breaths.</p><p>Once I'm sure they're gone, I stand up and peel my jacket off. It's only raining lightly now. I grab my blanket and huddle underneath before hurriedly unwrapping the snickers bar and eating it in three bites. I can barely taste it I scarfed it down so fast, but my stomach makes an appreciative noise. Thunder rumbles in the sky above me and I wrap the blanket tighter around myself. God, it's so cold.</p><p>Part of me wants to re-read my Archie comic, but there's a high chance of it getting soaked in the storm. So I press my face further into my lap and squeeze my eyes shut, praying for sleep. Ponytail pops into my head, and then Fitz. There's something about them that sets off alarm bells in the back of my head. Ponytail talking about herself in the third person sticks with me. No matter how hard I try and brush it off. Maybe the girl has issues, which is why she talks like that. But from the look in her eyes, it almost seemed like she was talking about someone else, another girl entirely.</p><p>"Get a hold of yourself," I mumble into my knees, shivering when a strong breeze hits me, toying with my beanie. I yank the wool over my eyes, burying further into my lap.</p><p>I'm overthinking. Surely.</p><p>Pushing away the thoughts of them, I focus on sleep. Imagining a warm bed, blankets that aren't damp and moldy. A proper meal. Roast chicken and mash potatoes covered in hot gravy. My mother's cooking makes my stomach ache for food. But instead of it keeping me awake, I drift off to sleep, thinking about her homemade jam tarts. The cakes she made when I was little, when dad was still alive. Dad. It hurts that I can't picture him anymore, and hurts more that mom never told me what happened. Everything about him has been erased from my mind. Mom never had photo's or any recollection of him. When I bothered asking about him, she'd change the subject, or when I was much older, she told me to shut up. All I remember is his singing voice, as he lulled a five year old me to sleep with a lullaby I can still remember. It's funny. I can't remember what he looked like, but his voice is constantly there in clarity. It was so gentle. So soothing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"A gentle breeze from Hushabye Mountain</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Softly blows over Lullaby Bay,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It fills the sails of boats that are waiting,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Waiting to sail your worries away."</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>There's no such thing as getting a good night sleep on the streets. I'm constantly terrified of being attacked by a stranger, or being battered by the elements. Though this time it's neither. I'm only just drifting off, curled into a ball with my blanket tightly wrapped around myself, when someone's hand crawls over my mouth, gagging the shriek about to tumble from my throat. I jump up, blinking rapidly in the darkness. My heart is ready to explode from my chest. There's a figure knelt in front of me, and my stomach flips over. "Hey!" the voice hisses, shaking me. "Jug, Hey! Chill out, it's me!"</p><p>The voice is familiar. When I come to my senses, batting myself from reverie, Fitz is sitting in front of me. He resembles a deer caught in the headlights. I wonder for a moment, if I'm dreaming. This is far too surreal. The boy is illuminated by the lamppost, bright golden light washing over face. His baseball cap is nowhere to be seen, instead I'm greeted to his curly mess of red hair spilling over his pale forehead. His eyes are wide and lips parted. But he doesn't speak. I squeeze my eyes shut, just to see if I am in fact dreaming. Though when I open them again, there he is. For some reason, my chest aches, and I'm confused. I barely know this boy. So why does my heart plead otherwise?</p><p>Eventually, he lets out a breath. His hand is still pressed over my mouth. But I don't wrench away from him. I can't move. My heart is in my throat for a boy I've just met, and I can't fucking understand why. "Okay," Fitz nods at me. "I'm going to remove my hand," he says softly. "Are you going to listen to me and not freak out?"</p><p>I nod, and he retracts his hand slowly. "Thank you." he lets out a breath of relief. "Alright, get up. You can cut the act now," Fitz jumps to his feet. "They've found us." He laughs. "I thought hitting you would snap you out of it."</p><p>For a moment, all I can do is stare up at him. "What? Who've found you?" when he frowns at me, I choke out a laugh. "What are you talking about?" But there's something nagging at my mind. When he woke me up, he called me something else. Not Jones. Not my real name. He called me...</p><p>Jug. Like Jughead. But I've been called that before. Back when the asshole knocked me out, there was an instance- a voice in my head. A girl. She'd said the same thing.</p><p>"Jug..." her soft moan echoes in my mind. Shaking my head, I bite my lip. I need to get out of here. These kids are insane. I gather up my blanket, stuffing it in my pack.</p><p>"Is this some kind of roleplay game?" I'm on my feet quickly, grabbing my bag and shouldering it. There's no way I'm staying here. Between Fitz and Ponytail, they've got clear issues I don't want to end up wrapped in. Did they see my Archie comic poking from my back and decide to play some kind of post-midnight game of Archie And Friends?</p><p>Fitz turns to face me, his expression twisted. "Jug?" he takes a step towards me, and I stumble back. "That's not my name," I try and speak calmly, but my heart is pounding, my stomach caving in on itself. "It's cool, I get it," I try and laugh. "This is some kind of prank right? Prank the new kid?" I turn away, ready to run for it. "Nah thanks, I'm good."</p><p>Before I can walk away, Fitz grabs my arm and yanks me so I'm facing him. I stumble, nearly falling on my face. His brown eyes are wide, lips trembling. He's paled significantly. "Jug?" he whispers. It's then that I realize he's not playing pranks, and this isn't some kind of twisted game. He's being serious. And that terrifies me. Because part of me wants to listen. "Why do you keep calling me that?" I demand, wrenching myself from his grasp.</p><p>Fitz speaks softly. Not to me. His gaze is elsewhere, his brown eyes flickering slightly. "You were right."</p><p>This guy is crazy. "Who are you talking to?" I demand. "Dude, if you saw my comics and are trying some weird ass roleplay, it's not working, okay? It's just creepy."</p><p>But Fitz isn't looking at me. His gaze lingers on something, or someone behind me. When I turn slowly, Ponytail is standing there. She's smiling, but there are tears in her eyes. She stands in the dim light of the alleyway, hugging herself.</p><p>"He doesn't remember anything?" she whispers to Fitz, who shrugs, his gaze flickers to me and I flinch. "Nope. Blank slate." The boy shakes his head, running his hands through his red mop. "You told him it was dangerous and he wouldn't listen."</p><p>"Okay." I say slowly. It's reached the amount of crazy I can deal with. My voice breaks. "I'm gonna go, okay? 'cos you guys are freaking me out." staggering back, I only manage to fall into Ponytail, who grabs my shoulders. "Hey!" when I try and tug away, she tightens her grip. She's surprisingly strong. "Listen to me," she says sharply. "You need to trust us."</p><p>"Trust you?" I splutter, struggling in her arms. "You're bat shit insane, and expect me to believe a single word you say?"</p><p>Ponytail ignores me. "How far away?" she nods to Fitz, whose eyes flicker shut for a moment before snapping open. "About two minutes." he hisses. "We're going."</p><p>"How can you know that?" I demand. then; "Who are two minutes away? What the hell is going on?" before I can think to pull or away, Ponytail is dragging me down the alleyway, Fitz running ahead of us. The girl's breath comes out in quick gasps. "This will probably sound crazy," she hisses desperately. "But I promise, Jug, everything will make sense soon, okay?"</p><p>"I doubt that," I growl back, trying to dig the heels of my converse into the gravel. "Why do you keep calling me Jug?" I spit. "I told you, my name is Jones."</p><p>Ponytail sighs. "It's hard to explain." she mutters.</p><p>We're nearing a dead end. Ahead of us, there's a green tent set up against the wall, an oil lamp sitting outside the open flap. Fitz rushes over, ducking inside. A girl pops her head out after a moment, looking like she's just woken up. The girl has light olive skin and long, raven black hair hanging in sleepy eyes. She's wearing what looks like a cheerleading outfit; a white long sleeved shirt and velvet blue skirt. Not exactly weather appropriate. This girl, compared to the others, doesn't look homeless. Instead, she reminds me of a festival goer, or maybe a cosplayer.</p><p>The girl blinks at me for a moment, before her blue eyes widen. "You found him?" she whispers to Fitz and Ponytail, her lips stretching into a sparkling grin. I glare at her, but my mouth won't work. It feels wrong to start yelling at a girl who looks like an Egyption goddess.</p><p>"Not exactly." Fitz mutters, crawling out of the tent. He's grabbed his bag, shouldering it. "Ronnie, get your stuff. we've gotta go."</p><p>The girl, or "Ronnie" nods quickly, before ducking inside. A few seconds later she's jumping out with a rucksack over her shoulder, her hands working quickly to tie her dark hair into a ponytail in a blue scrunchie. She's pulled on white plimsolls.</p><p>Eventually, I find my voice as Ronnie and Fitz get to work packing up the tent. Ponytail still holds me. But her grip has loosened slightly. "So blondie," I manage to get out. "Fancy telling me what's going on?"</p><p>Ponytail hums. "It's a lot." she says softly. "When we're somewhere safe, we'll tell you everything."</p><p>Her words kickstart my heart into a frenzied beat, ice settling in my veins. "Somewhere safe?" I repeat in a hiss. "What's that supposed to mean?</p><p>Though before she can reply, there's the sound of pounding footsteps splashing through the alleyway. Fitz goes pale. "We need to go NOW!" he yells. Ronnie nods calmly. She pulls something from her bag and hands it to the redhead. It reminds me of a pencil; long and narrow. Though its metallic. The boy takes it and drags the point of the stick-like object down the wall and I cringe at the sound of it. Though it hits me what the boy is doing, and I want to laugh. There's someone after them, and he's drawing?</p><p>The sound of boots thundering down the alleyway grows closer and I try and struggle out of ponytail's iron grip, but she holds me tighter. "Fitz," her tone is urgent. "Can you hurry it up?" she lets out a shaky breath. "That Bookmark wont hold them for long!"</p><p>Fitz continues to draw invisible patterns on the wall. I follow the strokes, my chest aching. What's he doing?</p><p>"I'm going as fast as I can!" he says through gritted teeth. Ronnie stands next to him. Her blue eyes dart back down the alleyway. "They're coming!" she moans. I manage to twist around, scanning the darkness, and there they are. A dozen figures in black, stomping towards us. They remind me of soldiers. The way they move, marching forwards. I swallow hard. "Who- who the hell are they?"</p><p>"Bad people." Ponytail replies. "Don't worry, they're not getting through." but her voice breaks. I maintain my gaze on the hoard heading towards us. But then they stop abruptly, bouncing back. I blink to see if I'm imagining things. But I'm not. There's an opaque barrier glistening in mid air, blocking them. "What?" I'm breathless, tired of saying that word. It's all I can say; splutter questions. Endless questions with no answers.</p><p>"Got it!" Fitz yells. Turning back to Fitz, I'm suddenly blinded by intense electrical blue light writhing through the wall the boy was drawing on. I can suddenly see the patterns he's been drawing, lit up right in front of me. I can't make sense of the drawing. It's something I've never seen before. Fitz nods at me, his brown eyes glittering with the same light, and Ponytail starts forwards, pushing me along.</p><p>"It's okay," Ponytail murmurs in my ear. "Just hold your breath and count to three, okay?"</p><p>My heart slams into my ribcage, bile burning at the back of my throat. "And then what?" I whimper. But the answer is right in front of me. Ronnie takes a few steps back, before running towards the wall. But she doesn't slam into it. Instead, the second she makes impact, the girl disappears right in front of my eyes. I've read Harry Potter. And the scene reminds me of the wall that separates muggles and wizards. A wall you have to run into to be magically transported to Platform 9 3/4s. But this isn't Harry Potter. This is real life, and a girl in a cheerleading outfit just vanished in a flash of light.</p><p>"No.." I mumble, digging my feet into the ground. "Are- are you serious?" I manage to splutter. But the girl only lets go of me, instead taking my hand and squeezing it.</p><p>"We'll go together." she says. I can't coerce a reply. The wall is mesmerizing.</p><p>"Good idea," Fitz says quickly. He's frowning at the dozen soldiers trying to bypass the invisible barrier. "I'll close the chapter, okay?"</p><p>Ponytail nods, pulling me towards the wall. Blue light is seeping through the gaps, bathing the girl in flickering cerulean. She flashes me a reassuring smile. "Like I said, just close your eyes, follow me and hold your breath."</p><p>I can only nod, stumbling with her. She tightens her grip. I squeeze my eyes shut and suck in a breath</p><p>
  <em>One...</em>
</p><p>The girl tugs me forwards, and I swallow the cry wanting to tear from my throat.</p><p>
  <em>Two...</em>
</p><p>"Archie Andrews!" A male voice yells, and I lose my breath, losing all focus.</p><p>Panicking, my eyes flicker open, and I'm only aware of standing inches from the doorway, falling into Ponytail, who's half submerged in bright blue light. Fitz is behind me, and the barrier pops out of existence. For a second, I stare at the boy. His red hair amplified by the intense light, his pale cheeks and freckles. The name echoes in my mind, and my heart stammers. Archie Andrews.</p><p><em>The voices in my head.</em> That nameless girl who my heart bleeds for. Despite not knowing her. She called me something. She called me Jug.</p><p>The voices chase me through the darkness, swirling through my brain. "Archie Andrews!" the man's voice follows us through the portal, or maybe it's in my head, on repeat, an endless cycle. Before I can make sense of it, or even register it, for the second time tonight, I'm pulled into darkness.</p><p>-</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i really enjoyed writing this, so hey, if you guys like it, i can write more :D im thinking this is gonna be around 5 chapters. I have 3 so far &lt;3</p><p>leave kudos if you liked! :D and let me know what you think :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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